


The tom with the dye markings

by Thunderfire69



Series: Seven Elemental Clans Universe [3]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied curse, LGBT Themes, Loner, M/M, Prophecies, curse, dye markings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderfire69/pseuds/Thunderfire69
Summary: He always knew he’d been different; he never needed to hunt, he carried an umbrella and he marked himself with purple dye. The dreams were just another strange thing about him.THESE CHARACTERS CO-EXIST WITH THE CHARACTERS OF SEVEN, THEIR PATHS MAY/MAY NOT CROSS IN THE FUTURE.





	The tom with the dye markings

Image by me

 

 

His paws were small and soft as he careful padded his way across the red, rocky, crumbling earth, his pelt bushed out in defence against the strong winds that threatened to drag him off the cliffs he was making his way along. He gulped as he imagined what the fall would be like, tumbling over and over as wind whipped at his fur, helpless to stop it. He stopped for a moment, digging in his claws as he closed his eyes, breathing deeply to steady himself before opening his eyes once more and continuing along.

 

He picked his way along carefully, dislodging small pebbles and rocks and sending them falling into the deep abyss that lay at the bottom of the cliff. The fall was so great, so long, that it had no end, fading into black so that his eyes could not make out the bottom. A fall from such a height would definitely be fatal, and he fixed his gaze on the silhouette of the cat that stood off in the distance.

 

He’d barely seemed to grow any closer, though he’d been picking his way across the cliffs for hours. His paw pads were beginning to crack and bleed from the path he was walking, and he felt the urge to yell to the figure, but the wind would simply whip his voice away. He closed his eyes to try and ground himself again, but this time his claws didn’t dig into the rock hard enough, and the wind blew him a few steps towards the cliff’s edge.

 

The tom panicked, hastily trying to regain his footing, but it was too late. Rocks crumbled under his paws, and the wind pushed him towards the edge. His paws scrabbled for purchase, but it was useless, his own weight dragging him down. As he began to fall, the wind whipping past his pelt, he dimly realised the silhouette he’d been padding toward was standing above him, watching him fall; then his eyes slipped closed.

 

His body hit the ground, knocking the breath from him, and his eyes snapped open to a completely different scene; the inside of a hollow oak, his den. It was the third time that week he’d had that dream, and he’d dreamt it countless times over his life. He pushed himself to his paws, shaking out his pelt; the purple dye markings in his fur needed renewing, and his umbrella lay dirty by his nest- it would need a good clean in a nearby stream.

 

The tom was brown, with gray ears and gray tabby markings. His paws were paler in colour, and his eyes were a cold, hard amber. His tail was bushy, and was also gray in colour. On his chest was a fading purple dye marking, in an odd triangular shape; similarly fading purple dye was on his ear tips, tail tip, the top of his muzzle and was two small, lined markings on his legs. His umbrella, which he snatched up into his jaws almost instantly, was striped blue and green, and was marred with streaks of mud.

 

The tom exited the den, flattening his ears against the rain that was splattering down. If his umbrella was not horrifically dirty and essentially useless until he could get it clean, he would have used it as protection against the rain. Water made his dye markings fade faster, which was the main reason he bothered keeping the umbrella in the first place.

 

He padded carefully down to the stream, well aware of how slippery and treacherous the earth could be around his den. The stream wasn’t far from his den, convenient on days like this, where he needed to clean himself and his umbrella. He spent his time in the stream, carefully and painstakingly cleaning all traces of mud from his umbrella and every last bit of purple dye from his pelt. By the time he had finished, the rain had eased, and he padded back to his den; there, he set his umbrella out to dry, just inside the den entrance so that the rain wouldn’t fall on it, then padded deeper into the oak tree hollow.

 

It was right at the back of the oak tree hollow that he kept his dye, some dark blue but most the royal purple he almost always used. He carefully picked up a small leaf wrap of the purple dye and began to reapply it to his pelt. He’d gone through this routine for countless seasons, much longer than any single cat had ever spent hunting in the forest. His dreams had always been different to a normal’s cats’, too; he either dreamed of picking his way across those crumbling cliffs, never able to reach the silhouette at the end, or he would speak to a random cat, never with the same pelt or voice. Whenever he did speak to another cat, he was never aware of what he was saying, but he always remembered what they said.

 

They always asked what he meant, to tell them what it means. They always asked for more clarity, and asked for him to not go, to tell them more. He didn’t think they ever saw him for who he truly was, and he didn’t think they ever asked for his name. He finished applying the dye, then made his way back to his nest; he found he never needed to hunt, for he never grew hungry, so most of his time was spent asleep. His eyes slipped closed and inky darkness overtook him.

 

Then he was blinking open his amber eyes to a foreign landscape; he instantly glanced around for the cat he would be talking to. His eyes fell on a white and ginger tom, and he padded across to the other cat, taking a seat beside them. The ginger and white tom’s gaze was fixed on the stars above, and the tom with the dye markings let there be silence for a few moments before speaking.

 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” The first line was always the tom’s choice, then he would fall into the abyss where his words were not his own, and he couldn’t hear his own voice.

 

The ginger and white tom’s gaze turned on him, starling blue eyes meeting his own cold amber ones. “The most beautiful sight, I used to think,” The tom meowed. “Until I laid eyes on you.”

 

The tom felt his pelt grow hot, and he wondered dimly why he still felt that he could choose his next words. “I’m sure I am much less beautiful without my dye markings.”

 

The ginger and white tom turned to fully face him. “I wasn’t talking about your pelt,” he meowed, their eyes locking. “I was talking about your eyes.”

 

Feeling his pelt grow hotter still, the brown tom with the dye markings glanced away, then mewed, “Why have you come here?”

 

“Aren’t you meant to tell me that?” The ginger and white tom sounded amused.

 

“I don’t even know who you are,” he admitted, staring down at his paws. “I’ve spoken to many like you, but usually I lose control of my words, and never remember what I say. This is the first time I’ve actually been able to choose what I say.”

 

The ginger and white tom shifted closer to him, in an almost comforting gesture. “I’m Tyrone,” The tom supplied after a moment. “And who are you?”

 

The tom with the dye markings hesitated; he’d never been asked his name. He couldn’t even recall if he had one. After a moment, he meowed softly, “I’m Oscar.”

 

Tyrone’s jaws opened to reply, and the world around him faded to black. Red eyes flowed from the darkness around Oscar, and panic began to set in. Something had changed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever make it out of this dark hellscape. The eyes pressed closer, sucking him in, and suddenly his eyes snapped open to his den, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. In the nest beside him was some tufts of ginger and white fur, and a large amount of blood.

 

For once in his life, Oscar questioned why he was so different, and what he would have to do to set it right.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a boy and then,,, this happened and I have such a big story idea surrounding him oh god
> 
> Also here's a speedpaint of the picture of him at the top! https://youtu.be/7NVyj4mk7tE


End file.
